February 26, Phoenix, State of Arizona.
In the visiting team's locker room at the US Airways Center, the ventilation ducts were blasting cool air.
Rick Carlisle stood in front of the tactical board, his marker drawing two parallel attacking lines in the away team's half.
" The Suns ' starting lineup tonight is Howard Eisley, Tracy McGrady, Grant Hill, Kenyon Martin, and Marcus Camby."
Rick Carlisle tapped his pen at the top of the arc. "On paper, they have two All-Star wings averaging over 27 points per game, and two shot-blocking specialists in the paint. But once they get to half-court, only one of those All-Stars can touch the ball. Tracy isn't used to playing off-ball; without the ball, he'll move very little. Ron, tonight, don't let him use screens to get to the comfortable right side; force him to the left, force him to stop the ball."
Artest, who was sitting on the bench tying his shoelaces, grinned when he heard this. " Rick, don't worry. I'll go up and give him some contact; I guarantee he won't be able to jump."
Lin Qi leaned against the door frame to the side of the tactical board, holding a paper cup of iced water in his hand, his expression calm.
When Grant Hill played for the Boston Celtics, his ankle was fully recovered, and his mid-range pull-up jumper and high-post playmaking were honed to perfection. He was the kind of playmaking forward who needed a lot of ball-handling to orchestrate the team's offense. Tracy McGrady, on the other hand, was also a ball-dominant player, accustomed to using crossovers on the perimeter to find his rhythm and pull up for a jump shot. Putting the two together, whoever went to the weak side corner to create space would lose half their effectiveness.
What's even more troublesome is the structural flaw in the inside line.
Kenyon Martin, despite being the number one draft pick, possesses a wild and fiery temperament. On offense, he relies heavily on fast breaks to get alley-oops, but in half-court sets, his clumsy mid-range two-point shot doesn't even reach 35% accuracy. Marcus Camby, on the other hand, is purely a defensive jumper; aside from picking up loose balls for dunks, he poses no shooting threat above the free-throw line.
When the Suns fielded a starting lineup of Hill, McGrady, Martin, and Camby, the only players who could truly draw defenders from the perimeter were McGrady and Hill, who had developed a spot-up three-point Hill. Martin and Camby crammed the paint, failing to create space for isolation plays on the perimeter and instead keeping the opposing center trapped in the paint. Hill's drives into the paint were met with nothing but muscular, long arms, and McGrady's attempts to penetrate were blocked, forcing him to retreat to the three-point line and attempt floaters.
In the locker room, the four people had completely different mindsets.
Hill is 31 years old. Having survived a devastating injury and won a championship ring in Boston, he now values tactical rationality and a winning culture. He wants the whole team to share the ball and play a team offense where everyone runs. But McGrady, at 24, is in his prime, full of pride and has become accustomed to being the scoring champion who takes all the ball. Subconsciously, he still feels that he should be the one to reap the rewards of the team's offense.
As for Kenyon Martin, his rookie contract expires this summer, and he's desperately seeking a max contract. Watching McGrady and Hill take over forty shot attempts every night, while he barely touches the ball in shuttle runs, Martin has spent countless hours throwing towels in the gym. On the defensive end, he frequently resorts to risky blocks and steals to pad his personal stats. Camby, on the other hand, is plagued by ankle and plantar fasciitis every few days, content to collect his high salary as a blue-collar worker, ignoring any arguments in the locker room and only concerned with clocking out.
A roster brimming with decency and reason, a scoring champion obsessed with individual heroism, a rebellious forward eager to pad his stats and secure a max contract, plus a center with no offensive drive and prone to injury. This lineup, overflowing with talent on paper, can rely on its natural talent to overcome weaker teams, but against a team like Boston, with the fastest defensive rotations and the strictest discipline in the league, all its flaws will be magnified and exploited.
The game jump ball is scheduled for 7:40 PM.
Big Ben Wallace outjumped Camby to tip the ball into the backcourt, giving Boston the first possession. Garnett then assisted Pierce with a mid-range jumper to score the opening point.
Looking back, the Suns did put on a pretty good show for a few minutes in the first two rounds.
Hill controlled the ball at the top of the key, facing Pierce's defense, and used a shoulder drop and crossover to squeeze into the paint. Just as Garnett was about to collapse his defense, Hill flicked the ball to the corner with one hand, assisting Kenyon Martin, who was cutting to the weak side, for a two-handed alley-oop dunk. On the next possession, Hill again isolated Pierce on the left side of the post, using a change of pace to step back and hit a jump shot.
Hill moves nimbly on the court and is extremely decisive when setting screens and passing the ball.
However, when the ball came into McGrady's hands, the Suns ' frontcourt gears instantly stalled.
Artest closed in on McGrady as soon as he crossed half-court, his right forearm bracing against McGrady's waist, his lower body seemingly rooted to the spot. McGrady attempted two wide crossover dribble moves, but Artest rammed them back with his thick chest.
Even more fatal was the congested positioning in the paint. Big Ben Wallace was firmly stationed in the center of the paint, while Camby and Martin stood like two wooden stakes, completely blocking any driving lanes.
At this moment, Hill made a back-run on the weak side, shaking off Pierce and revealing a huge opening at the top of the arc, reaching out for the ball. But McGrady's inherent arrogance was provoked by Artest. Without even glancing at Hill, he forced his way up and launched a backwards shot over Artest's long arm, which was almost blocking his eyelids.
"Clang!"
The ball bounced heavily off the front of the rim, and Big Ben turned around and scooped the backboard into his arms.
Kenyon Martin, standing on the sidelines, didn't even jump for the offensive rebound. He just shook his hand, muttered a curse, and slowly ran back.
Throughout the first half, the game at the US Airways Center became a completely disjointed one-man show.
Hill was very patient on the court, repeatedly trying to connect the whole team through ball movement. But as soon as the ball reached McGrady, the flow came to an abrupt halt. McGrady got bogged down in a one-on-one battle with Artest, repeatedly missing pull-up jumpers from the outside. In the latter part of the second quarter, Wade came off the bench and pushed the fast break. Hill sprinted back from midcourt to try and block the shot, but McGrady, who had missed a shot in the frontcourt, just jogged back to defense, stood with his hands on his hips near midcourt, and watched helplessly as Garnett followed up with a two-handed putback dunk.
As Hill retreated on defense, he turned and shouted a couple of times at McGrady. McGrady lowered his head, tugged at the thick back brace around his waist, and walked past Hill expressionlessly, pretending not to hear.
Kenyon Martin, positioned in the corner, didn't even bother to help out on defense, allowing Garnett to easily score with a mid-range jumper from the free-throw line. The five starters were all playing their own game, their eyes never even meeting.
The halftime score was 58-40, with Boston leading by 18 points.
Hill scored 14 points and 4 assists on 5-of-7 shooting in the first half, displaying extremely high efficiency. McGrady, on the other hand, only managed 7 points on 3-of-12 shooting, along with 3 turnovers. Martin and Camby combined for a mere 6 points.
The outcome of the second half was completely decided.
Rick Carlisle didn't even let Garnett and Big Ben play much in the fourth quarter. McGrady's shots became increasingly difficult under the constant pressure from Artest and Prince. In the latter part of the third quarter, he twisted his lower back while landing after a drive and had to walk back to the locker room with the team doctor.
84 to 108. The final whistle blew, and by the last five minutes, more than half of the home fans at the US Airways Center had left, with only a few stinging boos coming from the stands.
Hill, looking exhausted, clapped and hugged Garnett and Gary Payton in turn in the empty center court.
McGrady left the court early. Martin sat silently on the bench, put on his sports jacket, and disappeared into the player tunnel without looking back.
Lin Qi stood at the entrance to the away team's tunnel, watching Hill's dejected figure, and gently shook the empty paper cup in his hand.
Two ball-handling power forwards with conflicting functions, paired with two blue-collar big men who pose no shooting threat, plus a locker room atmosphere where each has their own hidden agendas.
The extravagant experiment with the Phoenix Suns failed to produce the expected chemical reaction, completely exhausting the Colangelo family's last bit of patience.